Crimes and Misdemeanors
by ilovetvalot
Summary: When Morgan is arrested on trumped up charges compliments of man's best friend, who can he depend on to rescue him? TWOSHOT
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: First of all, we have exciting news, my friends! Nominating ballots for "The Profiler's Choice Awards" are ready and waiting for you at the "Chit Chat on Author's Corner" forum. So please, everyone, come on over and name some of your favorite fics and authors. Lets honor our favorite stories and authors on the site! We want to hear from you. Rules and guidelines are also available at the forum and as always, tonnie2001969 and I would be delighted to answer any questions that you may have. Now, let's get nominating! **

**For anyone willing to help us advertise the awards, we've created a short author's note template available on both my profile page (ilovetvalot) and my co-author's (tonnie2001969). We'd love to have everybody's help making this venture a huge and fun success. Please feel free to copy and paste it into your own author's notes and/or profiles! With your help, I believe this can become an annual event that we ALL look forward to seeing. I hope that you're all as eager as I am to see this incredible project lift off. And a very _BIG_ thanks to all the authors helping us advertise these awards! We truly appreciate any assistance you can provide.**

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* * *

**Crimes and Misdemeanors**

**Chapter One**

Hearing the metal bars of his jail cell slam into place, one thought pervaded his extremely confused mind. He was seriously screwed. Nope, more than screwed, he was fucked. Royally fucked.

And for a change, it wasn't his fault.

Why the hell hadn't he remembered that Good Samaritans never prospered? They only got locked up in a steel cage on trumped up solicitation charges, he thought miserably as he surveyed his undignified surroundings.

As if he'd ever had to pay for it, he mentally snorted, throwing his orange jumpsuit clad body heavily onto the thin mattress that was supposed to pass for a cot.

All he'd wanted to do after coming home off a long, energy sapping case was have a beer, chill in front of his television and watch the game. Simple pleasures, right? Something that every man deserved after a hard day at the office, right?

A woman in a tight skirt and four inch stiletto heels had been the furthest thing from his mind. Damn it, sex had been so far off his radar that NASA couldn't even have sighted it. Admittedly, that little fact was a rarity, but no less true in this instance!

It was all Clooney's fault. That damned furball had been nothing but trouble since the day he'd rescued him from his abusive former owner during his beat cop days in Chicago. Now, the four legged demon had landed him in his own form of the doghouse. And his humble abode had steel bars and a questionable looking urinal, Morgan silently jeered, glaring toward the offensive steel receptacle in the corner.

It wasn't the worst thing that could have happened to him. He could admit that much to himself. But, damn, it was close. And it was that shaggy mule-headed so-called man's best friend's fault! He'd begged the damned animal to just hike his leg against the normal tree in the back yard. But after a week away from his master, Clooney had other ideas. Ideas that had involved snagging a pair of running shorts and a muscle shirt and going on a moonlit trek through the darkened streets of the city.

It should have been a freaking innocent endeavor. The operative word in that thought being SHOULD. But when in the history of his checkered past had anything ever been simple? Sometimes it had been through his own stupid choices that he got sucked into drama. But, this time...this time he'd been but an innocent participant in an unwitting game of "Name that Prostitute"!

He could hear it now. "Derek Morgan, come on down!"

Scrubbing his hands over his gritty eyes, Morgan shook his head morosely as he settled back against the cement block wall behind him and eyed the door to his cell. One thing was sure. If he was a sucker for a pretty face and shapely ass in need, his dog was ten times worse. And when they'd both heard a feminine scream emanating from a dark alley as they'd jogged down the street, neither could resist turning their heads toward the sound. And neither had been able to ignore it.

That had been mistake numero uno. It wasn't often that he cursed his mother's ingrained lessons. But tonight, yet again, being the gentleman had gotten him in trouble up to his eyeballs. Well, that...and the damned dog.

When he'd been running toward the doe eyed vixen nursing a split lip, his immediate thought had been that a deal with a customer had gone bad. Undercover cops didn't wear neon signs, after all. He hadn't a freaking clue that he and his dog had interrupted a bust months in the making.

And when he'd ran his hand down the chick's chilled arm, he had NOT been making a pass at her. And his offer of an escort back to his house so that she could make a phone call to her john...it had been a purely magnanimous gesture of support. NOT freaking solicitation.

But that wasn't how she'd seen it when she'd flashed her shield underneath his nose and narrowed her angry eyes on him. Oh, hell, no.

He had automatically reached for his back pocket, his every intention to identify himself as a federal officer. Of course, she had taken his sudden movement as a threat and his nose had been introduced to her Glock.

And so it was that his evening had gone from merely bad to a hell of a lot worse.

Now, he'd known from his days back on CPD that vice cops could be notoriously prickly. They were forced to dress and act whatever part they'd been assigned. Hooker. Dopehead. Didn't matter...what mattered to them was the job. So, it shouldn't have shocked him that the female version of the Terminator had him slammed against the brick wall of the building beside them and cuffed within seconds.

He'd pissed the undercover hottie off on so many dangerous levels. One for the alleged solicitation. And two, because, according to her, he wasn't taking the alleged allegation seriously.

Of course, his argument was that if he'd just allow her to identify himself, all the confusion would be cleared in mere moments. And she'd finally relented, reaching for his wallet.

His missing goddamned wallet.

Nylon running shorts held NO pockets. And thus, no identification.

She'd seen it as his opportunity to enjoy a cheap feel. Which he had. Immensely. It wasn't his fault that SHE was stacked. But it hadn't solved his current dilemma. Only complicated it. And then he'd found himself in the back of a squad car, bound for the 19th Precinct of DCPD, blue lights flashing in the otherwise dark night.

He'd endured the booking process with all the dignity he could muster, although the strip search HAD taken a toll on his ego. Who knew that standing in front of a hot woman naked could be so uncomfortable for him? Of course, usually when he was standing in his birthday suit with a girl, there weren't six additional sets of eyes watching.

Finally begging loud enough to be heard for his one phone call, he'd been forced to decide which colleague to seek help from. And therein lay his dilemma. There'd only been one real option.

Leading him to surmise, once more with feeling, that he, Derek Morgan was entirely fucked. Because there was no doubt in what he had left of his mind that when Jennifer Jareau arrived...she was gonna kill him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: First of all, we have exciting news, my friends! Nominating ballots for "The Profiler's Choice Awards" are ready and waiting for you at the "Chit Chat on Author's Corner" forum. So please, everyone, come on over and name some of your favorite fics and authors. Lets honor our favorite stories and authors on the CM site! We want to hear from you. Rules and guidelines are also available at the forum and as always, tonnie2001969 and I would be delighted to answer any questions that you may have. Now, let's get nominating! Our first ballots are beginning to trickle in and we love hearing from each of you! **

**For anyone willing to help us advertise the awards, we've created a short author's note template available on both my profile page (ilovetvalot) and my co-author's (tonnie2001969). We'd love to have everybody's help making this venture a huge and fun success. Please feel free to copy and paste it into your own author's notes and/or profiles! With your help, I believe this can become an annual event that we ALL look forward to seeing. I hope that you're all as eager as I am to see this incredible project lift off. And a very **_**BIG**_** thanks to all the authors helping us advertise these awards! We truly appreciate any assistance you can provide.**

**Also, we wanted to take a second to thank everyone that continues to read, review, favorite and alert our stories. Writing is a pleasure, but you guys, you make it worthwhile!**

**And please, fellow authors and readers, don't forget to get out there and nominate your favorite authors and stories. We're excited to hear from you!**

* * *

**Crimes and Misdemeanors**

**Chapter Two**

Pushing her hair out of her eyes as she stomped down the long concrete hallway, JJ muttered words under her breath that would not be suitable at all for her year old son to emulate. But as far as she was concerned, they were the only ones that adequately described how she felt about Henry's "Unca Derk" at this time.

"Unca Derk" was a dead man. And she was going to personally dance on his grave at the funeral for dragging her out of a nice, warm bed to come bail his ridiculous ass out of jail.

She had been asleep, dammit! Asleep and curled up next to her baby and her lover, all tucked in nice and tight in a big, comfortable bed that was in her very own house! Did the man not know how precious that time was? Oh hell, no, apparently not!

Stopping suddenly as the guard in front of her motioned toward the cell at the end of the row, JJ tersely nodded her thanks. Turning slowly, she stared through the worn metal bars at the orange-clad man lying ever-so-comfortably on the small cot. Narrowing her eyes, she slamming her hand against the bars as she yelled at the top of her lungs, "Do you have a death wish, Morgan? Or are you truly this dumb? Seriously? Solicitation?"

"JJ, it's not what you think!" Morgan exclaimed, vaulting from the cot and across the small distance to the cell's bars. Clutching them frantically, he pressed his face against the metal as he continued, "Honest to God, JJ, this time I'm innocent."

How many times had she heard those very words from that man's lips? From each member of her team's lips? Hell, it wasn't enough that she had to find ways to put positive spins on Rossi's carousing and Emily's mother's opposing views on the Bureau. That she'd been forced more than once to defend her Unit Chief's actions in the press. That she had to explain away Reid's social awkwardness every time he gave a seminar at any university in the country. That she'd had to battle the CIA's efforts annually as they attempted to steal Garcia right out from underneath them!

Now, she had to defend her fellow agent on solicitation charges? What was next? Public exposure on the steps of the Capitol?

Holding up a hand, JJ growled in agitation, "Save your breath, Morgan! I'd ask how the hell you ended up in this position, but I'm afraid you'd actually try to explain it to me."

"Listen, Jayje," Morgan begged, his dark eyes widening in what he hoped was his best puppy dog look, "It seriously isn't how it seems. I did NOT proposition that woman!"

"You didn't offer to take her back to your place?" JJ ground out, her eyes flashing as she slammed her hands on her hips.

"Well, yeah, I did that," Morgan muttered as he scuffed his feet against the worn concrete floor. "But, it was an innocent offer."

"Derek, do us both a favor and shut up," JJ grumbled as the Blackberry in her hands vibrated for the seventh time in thirty minutes.

Watching as her nimble fingers tapped at the small keyboard on her phone, Derek shook his bald head. "I swear, JJ, I've been framed."

"By whom?" JJ snapped, barely sparing him a glance as she continued tapping.

"Honestly? It was Clooney's fault! And I hope he's enjoying his time in doggy detention as much as I am," Morgan complained, looking around balefully as if he expected the canine in question to magically appear.

"Takes a dog to know a dog," JJ mumbled, snapping her Blackberry closed with a flourish.

"Look, Jayje," Derek beseeched. "Is there any way we could keep this unfortunate incident on the down low?"

"The down low?" JJ sputtered, almost choking on the words. "Seriously?" she asked, waving her Blackberry in front of the metal bars. "Who do you think is buzzing me at four in the morning, Derek? Santa Claus?"

"Oh, God," Derek breathed in horror, taking a backward step as he attempted to distance himself from that dangerous appliance. "Who else knows?"

"Well, our UNIT CHIEF for one!" JJ growled, her eyes shooting fire through the iron bars. "You are soooo lucky he had nobody to take Jack!"

"You called Hotch?" Derek yelped, deeply and truly hurt that JJ would rat him out.

"NO, you idiot. I didn't. The vice cop that collared you did! Evidently, she wasn't buying your "I'm a federal agent" routine and decided to phone the Bureau. They put the call through to Hotch's home. At 3:30 in the damn morning. You were his wake-up call. Congrats!" JJ added sarcastically.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," Derek mumbled into his hands. "This is bad." Jerking his head up, he asked, almost afraid to voice the question, "What'd you tell him?"

"Oh, I just let him know that you look fabulous in orange," JJ retorted, raking his orange jumpsuit clad body with a scathing eye.

"Jayje," Derek whined.

Taking pity on her friend, JJ rolled her eyes. "I told him that I'd handle it," she snapped tersely. "You are sooo lucky that Will has a friend down here. I should have you out in half an hour."

"Is there any chance that you can take care of Clooney, too?" Derek asked hopefully, blinking his dark eyes at JJ in well-practiced supplication.

Pursing her lips, JJ barely resisted the urge to screech. Now, she'd been upgraded from the person that got her colleagues out of prison to the person that got their impeached pets freed, too. How the hell had this become her life? "I've already got Pen working that issue. Clooney should beat you home by a landslide."

"Aww, shit! Baby Girl knows?" Derek groaned, throwing a dark glare at the tiny blonde on the other side of the bars.

"Garcia found out before I did. Evidently, you made the police scanner. She was in the process of trying to rouse Rossi to rescue you. She was afraid that I'd end up killing you. Which is still a distinct possibility, if not a probability," JJ replied tightly.

"Rossi, too," Derek almost whimpered. He really was never going to hear the end of his well-intentioned rescue attempt. Why oh why did he have to pick tonight to be the Good Samaritan? Why?

"And Emily and Reid," JJ nodded. "Reid got a phone call from Garcia because in her panic she forgot Rossi's number. And of course, we know what Reid's recall is. He felt obligated to call Emily and share every salacious detail. So tales of your misfortune has been broadcast to the entire team," JJ sighed.

"Forget it. Clooney can stay in puppy purgatory," Derek declared miserably, leaning his head against the worn bars.

"He won't for long. Officer Valdez, otherwise known as your hooker hottie, was very impressed by your animal. You, not so much. But she volunteered to take the dog...at least the four legged one," JJ shrugged.

"Hell, no!" Derek yelled, drawing the stares of his fellow inmates, their catcalls filling the narrow hallway. "No way in hell am I giving over my dog to that streetwise seductress."

"Too bad," JJ muttered, reaching out to flick his forehead with her thumb and forefinger. "If you'd allowed Clooney to do the barking, maybe none of us would be here," JJ huffed, nodding to the guard approaching Derek's cage. "Now, I'm going to give the okay for this nice officer to release you IF I can gain your agreement to behave yourself from now on. Otherwise, you can continue to enjoy the city's fine accommodations, such as they are," JJ said, looking around and shuddering distastefully.

"You have conditions for my release?" Derek gaped incredulously, his shoulder straightening underneath the prison-issue garb. "You're actually gonna condemn me for being a good Samaritan?"

"You," JJ growled, pointing an accusing finger through the evenly spaced metal bars, "have cost me several hours of a rare commodity!"

"What commodity?" Derek grunted.

"SLEEP, you moron! I'm the working mother of a very active toddler, Derek!" JJ shouted, her voice echoing down the cement and steel corridor, effectively quelling the earlier chatter.

"Okay, okay," Derek said, taking a step away from the bars, not quite sure whether his follow agent could reach his neck and throttle him, but not willing to take any chances. "Name your terms."

"Any woman you approach from this point forward, innocently or otherwise, must be vetted by ME," JJ hissed, pointing to herself. "Solicitation, Derek, is not a word that I want associated with our unit."

"I did NOT solicit that woman!" Derek defended himself.

"Yeah, and Clinton didn't bang Monica either," JJ retorted, crossing her arms over her chest as she took a step back from the cell. "Do we have a deal or not, Derek? If we don't, I'm entirely fine with calling Strauss and letting her handle you as she sees fit," JJ smiled sweetly.

"You wouldn't!" Derek gasped with wide eyes.

"Try me," JJ invited demurely, lifting her fingers to study her nails in nonchalant patience.

"Fine! Whatever you want!" Derek acquiesced. "Just keep the she-demon away from me!"

And just as the uniformed guard stepped forward to unlock the cell, JJ held up one finger, lifting her phone and snapping a picture of an orange jumpsuit clad Derek Morgan with his nose pressed against the bars of his small prison. With a tight smile she informed him, "Next year's Christmas card."

And with a final groan, Derek took his first step toward freedom, such as it was. He had a distinct feeling that he might have indeed been much safer behind those cold, steel bars.

_**Finis**_


End file.
